We were seated at Jim and Mary’s place. Willow was closed, of course, in honor of the Labor Day Holiday and the thirty-thousand dollar repair to the dishwasher in the kitchen, which Tracy hopes will be complete and back in operation by later today.

I hope so, too.

We agreed that it is getting on to time to get out of Arlington. We talked about real estate, as people do in this area, since the swelling of the Federal Budget has made this the best compensated region in the country, and with the exception of some oil anomalies in the Gulf, thus the richest place on the planet.

“It isn’t the congestion,” said Mary. “It is the fact that all the people are such jerks.”

“It is a function of our local news being the National News everywhere else,” growled Jim. “People define themselves by what they do, rather than who they are.”

I took a sip of Absolute and looked out the window at the street. “There certainly are a lot of assholes here. Maybe that includes us?”

“Out of the question,” said Mary. “We are smart enough to want to get out.“ She told me the exact number of months remained before they intended to escape, and then we talked about places to go. After a decent interval, I announced that it was time for me to go do a ritual that has continued for a dozen years.

“Going to go swim?” asked Jim.

“Yep. First in, last out. Today is the last day of the regular season. Once the Polish Life Guard clicks the lock, we are done for the year. Well, there are two bonus weekends, but it is closed during the week. The Guards go back to Middle Europe and we have some unreliable Americans for the last four days. But I will be the last in the pool this season for the 12th consecutive year.”

“There are always variables,” growled Jim, taking a sip of his bourbon, neat. “Like the thunderstorms that are going to roll in here late this afternoon.”

“I have a strategy,” I said calmly. “If I get back and take a plunge, I will be the last even if the storms keep up and the pool closes early. It is like putting a contingency marker down.” But his admonition made me a little anxious. I bade them farewell and trudged out to the Panzer, illegally parked at the curb right outside the all-glass fishbowl of their ground-floor unit.

I drove as expeditiously as possible to Big Pink and didn’t bother to put the SUV in the garage, parking right next to the fence by the pool. The sky was darkening swiftly, and I heard a peel of thunder close in to the west, stark and dramatic. The replacement Pole was ushering the people out of the water and off the deck to avoid lightning strikes, and I realized that the matter of who was going to be last in the water was now wide open.

I waited in the shelter under the balcony above my patio as the first raindrops began to fall, and then turned into a torrential flood. I went inside and changed into my swim trunks. Nothing this heavy could last long, I thought, and paced pensively as I watched the water cascade across the blacktop of the parking lot.

There was nothing a holiday cocktail couldn’t cure, I reasoned, and sat down to watch an episode of Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries, a marvelous period crime melodrama from our friends down under.

My eyes must have closed, since when they opened again, the screensaver was rotating and the sun was down.

I sat up with a start. Damn! Had the pool closed while I dozed? I leapt up and grabbed my towel, heading for the pool deck as the patio door swung shut behind me.

I sighed in relief. Montana, Queen of the Deck, was still regally reclined in her lounger, and the County Psychologist was still peering at her tablet in the growing gloom. Minutes to go, and the Replacement Pole turned on the fill jet at the deep end of the pool.

I jumped in to the still chill water and paddled over to back-stroke against the current until I could no longer hold position and drifted with the force of the water toward the middle of the pool. The water never did warm up this season, and it has been cold all through the summer.

I touched bottom near the ladder and hauled myself out. Montana and the Shrink were gathering up their things and preparing for the end of the year. I did the same, and squished in my flip-flops back to my patio. I waited until the Replacement Pole collected the pool log and his chemical kit and stowed the rescue back-board. I did not go back inside until after heading the solid “click” of the lock on the pool gate.

Streak intact. An even twelve years, first and last in and out. Wonder if I will be here for the Baker’s Dozen? There is a lot to think about, before the Spring comes around again.

Copyright 2014 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303